


The Voices

by Setkia



Series: My Marvel Stories [5]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Again, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Illness, Peter is a Good Boyfriend, Suicidal Thoughts, Thank You Voices, Wade's Voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 09:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13633566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “How was your day?”Wade rolls his eyes. “You spent all day with me, you know I think any day spent with you is a good day.”“I wasn’t talking to you,” says Peter. “I was talking to the voices.”





	The Voices

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Deadpool, or Spider-Man. I really think there should be more stories about Peter addressing Wade's mental illness, and not making it a plot device necessarily, but rather something that needs to be addressed properly for their relationship to function, and I fear there aren't enough fanfics that do that. This might seem a bit repetitive from Get It Right, but I really liked this concept. I hope you guys like it!

“How was your day?”

Wade rolls his eyes and Peter really wishes he’d take off that mask of his.

They’re in his run-down apartment with the shitty air conditioning in the middle of July and he shouldn’t be wearing something with so many layers and he always sits weirdly when he’s in the suit. He looks uncomfortable without all his weapons in the holsters (Peter’s not the one who made him take them all off, it’s because he isn’t allowed in the building when armed and Peter knows that makes Wade feel vulnerable, but he does it anyway for him and it makes Peter happy. Preferably, for Wade’s sake, he wouldn’t have to take them off, but Peter can’t afford a house with the job he has now).  

“You spent all day with me, you know I think any day spent with you is a good day.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” says Peter. “I was talking to the voices.”

The ex-merc frowns. “The voices? You have them too?” and he’s looking at Peter so sadly, like he can’t believe he has to go through this as well but Peter shakes his head.

“No, I was talking to _your_ voices.”

“My voices?”

“That’s what I said, yeah.”

Wade blinks. “My voices?”

The young adult rolls his eyes. “I know you heard me the first time. Now you’re just layering it on for the sake of comedy. Yes, Wade. I want to talk to your voices.”

Peter really hates how much Wade frowns when he talks about things like this. “But … but they’re voices. They’re not people, they’re … fucking menaces in my brain that won’t shut up half the time.”

“They’re a part of you. I want to know everything about you.” Peter pulls his knees under him on the couch and leans against the back of the couch. “Turn off the TV. I want to talk to your voices.”

“They’re an ugly part of me, almost as ugly as my mug,” Wade says, ignoring his boyfriend’s comment. His voice is getting frantic. “I don’t … I don’t want you to … you don’t want to know the things they say, Petey.”

“Turn off the TV." His voice is gentle.

Wade does. Peter pretends he doesn’t see the way his fingers tremble on the button.

The brunet waits as Wade gets himself settled on the couch again.

Sitting here in his apartment with a man nearly twice his age after a day of lazing around, watching old episodes of _I Love Lucy_ and random intervals of heavy make-out sessions is not the path Peter Parker envisioned his life taking, but radioactive spider bites tend to derail plans. He’s quite happy with where he’s ended up, if he may say so himself.

Wade plays with his fingers and there’s the tell-tale squeak of leather with each of his movements. “We don’t have to do this—”

“I want to hear them,” he insists. “What do they say?”

“That’s not … It doesn’t work that way,” says Wade. His voice is rising, but he knows he’s not mad. He’s frustrated. “It’s like … they don’t stop talking. Ever.” _Unless you take a bullet to the brain_. It’s left unsaid, and it’s better that way. “I can’t … I just—”

“What are they saying now?”

The mutant bites his lip. “I don’t want you to know—”

“Well, I want to know.” Peter reaches forward and takes Wade’s hands in his. He pulls at the gloves that cover his scarred fingers, and tugs gently. Wade doesn’t resist much. 

He feels the uneven skin, feels the boils and the broken, peeling texture of his boyfriend. “I’m all in, for this relationship, you understand me? I don’t know what more I can do to prove it to you, but _I like you_ , Wade. As you are. Crazy guns lit and all.

"I have polish for your swords in my cupboard. I actually fucking _bought that_. I _trust you_. You’re a merc, you could kill me in my sleep. I know you won’t.”

“And rob the world of that beautiful face?” Wade shakes his head. “I’m crazy, but I’m not _that_ crazy.”

“Listen to me, Wade. Look at me.”

He does.

“I need you to trust me. The same way I trust you. That’s the only way we’re going to work, and I want us to work. I _really_ want us to work.”

Wade pulls his hands away from the brunet, and he sighs. He should know better than to push Wade too far—

Wade’s taking off his mask.

Peter waits, in silence, and in awe. He can’t rush this. This is the first time Wade’s ever taken off his mask without prompting in front of him. He waits, and then Wade’s beautiful eyes are visible to him and Peter smiles lightly.

“Die.”

Peter frowns.

“You’re so stupid. You’re draining him of his youth. What the fuck is wrong with you?

"How many bullets are left? I need blood. Tie him up. He’ll hurt you. Hit him. Hurt him. Make him bleed. His blood would look so pretty. I’m hungry. Eat him. Beat him. This is why you deserve to die.

"Idiot. Fucktard. You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you? What are you thinking, trying to get with a kid? He’s so fucking young, he could probably be your son if you knocked up some chick when you were like, sixteen or whatever.

"You were hot when you were sixteen. You look like trash now. DIE. Why can’t you fucking die? You can’t even do that right. FUCKING DROP DEAD ALREADY! You stupid piece of shit, you waste of space, why are you even breathing? You can’t even kill yourself properly. A true fuck up, in all senses of the word!”

He’s crying.

“Stop.”

Wade clamps his jaw tightly shut. He trembles as Peter reaches out to him, pulling him closer to his body. 

“I—”

“Stop talking, Wade.” His tone is soft, gentle.

Wade obliges.

They sit like that, silently as Peter rubs circles into Wade’s back. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, until Wade pulls his head out from his shoulder.

“You’re crying.”

Peter reaches up and touches his face. Ah. There are tears. That explains the salt in his mouth. It’s bitter.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I told you it was ugly. _They’re_ ugly. You really shouldn’t—”

He licks his lips. Though the years change and his life is never the way he expected it to be, one thing always remains the same. From age five to nineteen, tears are still salty and bitter. 

“No, I’m okay. It’s okay.” 

Wade bites his lip. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

Peter smiles. “I really am. I’m glad. I’m _really_ glad you shared that with me.”

“It was ugly.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it fucking was, wasn’t it?” Peter laughs. “But I’m glad you shared it with me anyway. You shouldn’t ever feel like you have to hide things from me. I’m here to listen, you know. And you shouldn’t ever believe any of the shit those stupid voices tell you.”

“I …” Wade pulls Peter closer, he can feel his warmth, and it makes him tingle. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“Hey, don’t say shit like that.”

“But … I’m always the one with problems. Since when have you ever brought your shit into this relationship?” Wade rests his head on Peter’s chest and begins to draw circles along the younger’s abdomen. “Even when you fuck up, it’s sexy.”

“It was an accident—”

“You should tie me up with your webs more often,” Wade says with a toothy grin. “It’s kinky. Telling you to die isn’t kinky, it’s fucking depressing.”

The brunet pulls Wade closer to him. His body is hard and rough on his own, years of training and fighting evident in his physique. Peter always feels fragile when their bodies can be compared like this.

“It’s …. concerning.”

“Don’t lie to me. It freaks you out, doesn’t it?”

“A bit.” 

Wade snorts.

“It terrifies me. Is that what you want to hear? I’m not going to tell you things because you want to hear them. I’ve never been that kind of guy.

"I’ll tell you the things you _need_ to hear. And you need to hear that I don’t care that you’re full of baggage. _Everyone_ comes with baggage. And I like you the way you are. I don’t know how many times I can say it, and I’m starting to think it’s losing its meaning.

“Wade Wilson, you are the most fucked up person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. And somedays I regret it, because my life would be _infinitely_ easier without you in it. But it would never be as _good_ as it is, you understand? Because it’s hard, but nothing worth anything is easy. You are not an easy person to date, Wade.

"And I’m not telling you this so you can think I’m enduring some kind of hardship, like dating you is such a weight on my shoulders. I’m telling you this because you’re _worth_ the headaches and the constant worrying and everything you’ve put me through. And you will never stop being worth it.”

“Peter …”

Their eyes meet and it sounds cheesy to say that his heart stops. He _wishes_ his heart stopped. Instead it’s going into overdrive and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die, but it’s been a good run and with Wade looking at him like that, how can he not like it?

“Does this mean I’m high maintenance?”

“The highest,” Peter replies with a broad grin that threatens to take over his face. He kisses him and melts into it. As much as he’ll complain about the suit, he likes the sound of his fingers raking against the fabric.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Yes, Wade?”

“The voices think you’re hot.”


End file.
